


Mourn Those Left Behind

by literaryspell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Sibling Incest, minor (preteen), rape due to inability to consent but also implied forced sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-27
Updated: 2010-07-27
Packaged: 2017-10-23 04:42:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryspell/pseuds/literaryspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At Harry's funeral, Al and James are forced to deal with secrets best left buried.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mourn Those Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

> All my love to [](http://seatbeltdrivein.livejournal.com/profile)[**seatbeltdrivein**](http://seatbeltdrivein.livejournal.com/) and [](http://keppiehed.livejournal.com/profile)[**keppiehed**](http://keppiehed.livejournal.com/) for their hard work and amazing feedback. This was written for the [](http://nextgendarkfest.livejournal.com/profile)[**nextgendarkfest**](http://nextgendarkfest.livejournal.com/). It's unrelenting and dark but it's contains some of my best writing, so I do hope you give it a shot. :D

James is beautiful with the cold light of the moon tracing his skin. Al likes to touch the freckles on his back after. Their dad is still watching, but it isn’t immediate, isn’t important. This is Al's time. He can touch James and love James without it being strange and ugly and scary and painful.

Al kisses a cluster of freckles on James' shoulder. The freckles become less dense as they traverse the curve of his spine. James is still breathing so quickly. He'll fall asleep soon, but only after their dad leaves. He doesn’t sleep while Harry is still in the room. Harry gives Al a warm smile when Al rests his head over those freckles and turns his face toward his dad. He hurts. James is hurt but in a different way. Harry is hurt, too—inside.

*

The casket was black. Al knew the lining was red, even though his dad's favourite colour was green. His mum had never really accepted that—even decades out of Hogwarts, she still maintained that Gryffindors like certain colours and Slytherins like others, and the two should never enmesh. Harry would say that sort of attitude was indicative of bigger problems. He didn’t like it when people got all caught up in the way things should be, especially when it came to the houses at Hogwarts.

It had started when Al had been Sorted into Ravenclaw. He wasn’t alone—Rose was with him, and Louis. Even Teddy had been, though he was always sort of a weird afterthought. People would say things like, "Oh, and Teddy." Or, for dinners, "And you counted Teddy, right?" Like they wanted to make sure he was always thought of, but it only cemented the fact that he _wasn’t._

Teddy was wearing black. He'd loved Harry so much.

Al was wearing black, too, but it didn’t feel as mournful as the black the other people were wearing. Harry'd always said he wanted a celebration, but his mum didn’t believe in that sort of thing. To Harry's face, she'd agreed, nodding with wet eyes. But to Al's grandma, she would lower her voice and ask why Harry was always _saying_ things like that.

Al was glad Harry had raised them with the knowledge that he wouldn’t always be around, that they would one day have to take care of themselves and each other, without him. Al now found it didn’t hurt as much. It was like setting your NEWTs twenty years in the future—after all that worry and stress, you couldn’t help but feel relieved when it was finally over. Still, Al didn’t know what to do with all his time now. With all his thoughts.

Harry was being buried in his Auror robes. They were red, too. Al wondered if he blurred right into the casket, like he wasn’t there at all. Like his body was transparent, or maybe like he was draped from the neck down in his Invisibility Cloak. The Cloak was Al's, now. James had wanted it, but…

James.

Al didn’t know what James was wearing because James wasn’t there.

Al's grandfather spoke, and then his mum, and then Lily. Arthur had people laughing, Ginny had them crying, and Lily had them wondering. Harry had always been something of a mystery.

Just as Al was whispering goodbye, Scorpius joined their hands. Al squeezed. He needed Scorpius more than ever. Scorpius kept him sane and held so much at bay—it was easier not to think when Scorpius was next to him, around him, inside him, with him.

The casket was lowered and Al stepped forward. He felt them—the Weasleys and the Potters and extended family and friends and people Al had never even seen before and never would again—all watching him, but not Scorpius. Scorpius was looking respectfully at the ground, knowing how Al hated to be the centre of attention…

How he hated people _looking_ at him.

He dropped the lily, stem crushed by the pressure of his fingers, into the hole. The hole where his father was. The hole where his heart was.

After Al slipped back into the crowd, people's eyes turned away from him. He folded himself into Scorpius' strong and sure arms, his head turned away even though he wished he could let himself fall into the unconditional love that was his boyfriend's embrace.

Al's eyes focused on something in the distance.

James.

James wasn’t wearing black, Al saw when his eyes set on the form, shrunken by distance. James was wearing Muggle clothes, jeans and a dark green hooded sweatshirt. Al had never seen James wear green before.

"James is here," Al whispered, still looking at his brother. He couldn’t tell if James' eyes were on him, but he thought he felt them.

"Want me to come with you?" Scorpius' voice was so low, so protective. His arms didn’t let up until Al took a step backward.

Al nodded. "I don't want to be alone," he whispered, and the base truth of all that he was was laid bare before Scorpius, and even though he suspected Scorpius had known all along, it still tore at him, ripped him open to say it like a casual thing.

There was no judgement from Scorpius, no knowing look or smirk like James might have given. His arms tightened for a split second and he let Al go but took his hand again. Scorpius was never ashamed about them being seen together. He'd come out to an accepting, if not approving, family, and a group of friends who'd rolled their eyes in exasperation that he'd actually felt the need to say what they'd known for years.

Al had never officially come out. His father had never met Scorpius in the capacity of Al's boyfriend. They'd been friends, but he'd never _told_ Harry. Though… in a way, Harry must have known. Al still wasn't sure whether Harry had made him this way.

James was still as he watched them approach, but his features twisted into an ugly sneer when his eyes fell on their clasped hands. Al reacted, pulling his hand away and tucking it into his cloak pocket as if he'd been cold. Scorpius said nothing, but his disapproval was tangible—and it hurt.

"How are you?" Al whispered, standing beside James and facing the faraway gravesite together. There was wailing; the sound wafted over the gravestones, making Al's stomach clench. He hoped it wasn’t his mum.

James just looked at him.

"You're late," Al said, angry because James could always do that to him, make him feel small and stupid and like he let bad things happen to him.

*

"You're late," Harry chides, but his voice is high and playful like when he takes them for ice cream— _just us boys_ —or tucks them in at night.

James ducks his head. Al can see toothpaste on the corner of his mouth.

"Sorry, Dad."

Harry waves it off and sits back in the armchair in Al's room—no one but Harry sits there; Al doesn't even put clothes on the chair. Harry looks like a king sometimes, presiding over subjects with a gaze that is at once detached and heated. After, he doesn’t, but for now, he's royal. Al likes to think that makes him a prince.

Al knows that all over the wizarding world there are little boys and girls who hate their parents and pretend that Harry Potter is their dad. Al doesn’t quite know what that makes him and James.

"Sorry for making you wait, Al," James says, getting up onto the bed. He is awkward when he sits next to Al, even though they are brothers and very, very close. They don't touch. James thinks that Al hates being alone with Harry just because James himself does, but Al doesn’t really mind. Harry is his _dad_ —he doesn’t do anything Al doesn't want.

Is it the same for James? Al doesn't know.

Al stretches his skinny legs out before him. They are pale and he has freckles on his knees. Just his knees, not all over like James does. Al sometimes feels like he is just a fraction of James, like he is a small part of everything that makes James James, and so he is really only part of a person, not whole at all.

Harry's voice goes low again, and Al shivers when James puts his hand on that freckled knee. Al doesn’t know if he likes the voice or the hand, but he likes his father and he likes James, so it's okay.

"So beautiful," Harry whispers. "My boys."

*

At the reception after Al's father was put in the ground, everyone turned their focus to James. With his stupid green sweater, he drew so much attention to himself. People whispered about how disrespectful he was.

The bad son.

Al glared when he heard Rose criticise James for showing up late. He agreed—he would always remember that James had been late on _this_ day—but no one else was allowed to think or say it but him.

Rose responded with a sympathetic look that made Al's teeth ache. He must have squeezed Scorpius' hand too tightly because Scorpius withdrew it and wrapped his arm around Al's shoulders instead.

"All right?" Scorpius asked, his grey eyes shining with concern. What Al had done to deserve him, he suspected he'd never know.

"Just… James."

They both watched as the man in question took up a drink from the bar, downed it, poured another, treated it to the same fate, and poured yet another.

"He'll be loaded in twenty minutes if he keeps that up," Scorpius said. They paused in their conversation to thank his Aunt Hermione and his Uncle Ron for their condolences. Al wasn’t sure if he was supposed to return them; they'd know his father for longer than he had. But Al knew he'd known Harry best, better than James, even.

Al's house was unfamiliar with so many people inside. It looked smaller—or had he just grown up? He tried so hard not to look back at James, but his brother's draw was inexorable. Al's eyes kept returning to him, taking him in and studying him. James seemed to be held together with strings that were tied to every corner of the house—one move and he'd tear at the seams.

It had always been Al's job to keep the Potter men together.

"I have to talk to him." Al spoke into Scorpius' shoulder. He had to go alone, he knew. If James had drunk as much as Al suspected he had, his tongue might be loose enough to reveal things that should never be spoken aloud. Al couldn’t risk that, couldn’t risk Scorpius finding out about the disgusting… the horrible… the things he'd done.

"Want me to come with you?" Scorpius always seemed to know exactly what Al was thinking, what he needed. They'd been so young when they'd gotten together, Al throwing himself at Scorpius at _much_ too young an age because he hadn’t known any other way of showing him that he loved him. Al didn’t trust himself with any other man—he didn’t even have male friends. There was only Scorpius because Scorpius had been the first to show him he didn’t need to use himself to make other people happy.

But Al still did it. It made _him_ happy, but Scorpius didn’t need to know that, couldn’t possibly understand it. So Scorpius got all Al ever offered because he couldn’t trust himself to be able to understand a love that didn’t start with sex.

"I want you to, but I need to do it alone."

Al was about to approach, but he saw that Teddy was talking to James, and Teddy took the drink from James' hand and James didn’t lose it, so that could only be good. "In a minute," he said to Scorpius, who nodded.

Then Al's eyes fell on the sideboard where the food was set up.

"No, no, no," Al muttered, shaking his head. His lifted wide eyes to Scorpius, who looked at him in concern.

"What's wrong? What is it?"

"Dad's favourite dessert. Treacle tart. Why would they have it out? He's not even _here_! It's not like he can _have any_!" Al's voice rose in pitch and volume, and Scorpius yanked him hard against his chest, pressing Al's face into his robes as he sobbed without tears.

"It's not right!" he whispered brokenly, staring at the pudding.

He was out of Scorpius' hold like an eel and across the room before he could be stopped. He felt eyes on him and slithered away from the worried stares. Uncaring of his audience, Al grabbed the offending dish and turned to leave out the back door, knowing the cool weather would keep anyone from congregating on the porch. He met James' eyes for a half-second, and his step stalled—James should be helping him, with him, beside him—but Al was determined and so he went alone.

Outside wasn’t silent. Silence tried to follow him, tried to lasso him back inside with his friends and family and Scorpius, people who _understood_ , people who claimed to hurt just like he hurt except someone had gone and brought treacle tart without _understanding_ that that was his father's dish!

Without care to the china that held the dessert, Al tipped the entire thing over the railing of the porch and watch with satisfaction as it _splunked,_ the food exploding and the dish shattering.

Now it was on the ground like his father was in the ground. The wind wasn’t quiet as it whipped his hair about his ears and eyes, and that was the only reason he was crying and not because Harry was gone Harry was gone Harry was _gone._

"Daddy," he said, hating his voice for breaking. He hadn’t called his father that in a decade.

Warm arms encircled him from behind and if the smell wasn’t so entirely Scorpius, the tangible comfort that exuded from him would have given away his identity.

"I love you," Scorpius said. His voice was unobtrusive in the quiet, in the din.

*

"I love you," Al whispers, his eyes wide and scared but his body trusting.

James smiles down at him with Harry's face. Al doesn’t know it, but James will grow out of the looks; his hair will lighten and his freckles darken. His eyes were always his, not like Al, who has Harry's eyes. Al never grows out of looking like Harry.

"I love you," Al says again when James doesn’t answer. "I love you," he says to his father, who watches from his seat. There are tears in his father's eyes, in Al's eyes. But not in James' eyes. James' eyes were never like Harry's, never like Al's.

James is different.

*

"You should probably get back inside," Scorpius was saying. He saw the treacle mess and said nothing. He really was the best boyfriend a person could hope for.

"I don't want to," Al whispered.

Scorpius didn’t make him. Scorpius never forced Al to do anything. They stood on the porch, Al staring at the mess and Scorpius holding him so, so tight.

The sliding glass door opened and shut.

"Al, honey," Aunt Hermione said, coming up behind them. Al could smell the perfume she was wearing, something Uncle Ron had given her at Christmas one year. It smelled horrible and he knew that she thought so too, but she always wore it because Uncle Ron would always ask, 'Are you wearing the perfume I got you?' and he would smile so big and wide when she said yes. They were in love.

Hermione didn’t try to break Scorpius' hold on Al. She put a hand on both their arms, her fingers searching out Al's and squeezing. "It's always going to be okay to miss him. You never have to stop loving him just because he's gone. And he hasn’t stopped loving you, either."

Al choked on his tears and turned, letting Scorpius' arms fall away as he folded himself into Hermione's familiar, too-sweet-smelling embrace. "It's okay," she said again and again into his ear.

He was too old to believe what other people said just because they said it, just because they were older than he was and knew better and because they _say so,_ but still he took comfort in her words for the simple fact that she meant it.

When she left, Scorpius left with her, saying that he was going to talk to Lily and Rose. He'd become closer with Al's family than Al himself had—except for James. James had always hated Scorpius, never made a secret of it. Scorpius had never understood it but assumed that James just had a problem with them being gay.

It was so much more than that.

After a few minutes alone, Al decided to go back into the house, but as he turned, James was coming through the doors.

"Nice mess," he said, leaning over the railing and nodding down at the explosion.

Al shrugged. He didn’t have to explain himself to James. James had just… left. They weren’t even really family anymore. After Hogwarts, James hadn't returned home, and Al had only seen him a handful of times over the years.

He always said he didn’t blame Al, but sometimes he looked at Al with such anger.

James slipped out a flask and took a long swig. He offered it to Al, who shook his head.

"I'm not staying," James said, not looking at Al. His words were slurring, but he seemed sharp enough.

"Yes, you are. James, you can't leave me here with…"

"With what, Al? What do you have now, now that he's gone?"

Al bristled. "We both lost the same thing."

"No." James was quiet for a moment before adding, "You lost more. But I have more to lose. So I can't stay."

"James," Al whispered, his voice breaking. " _Please_." He reached out to touch James' face, the only bare skin that was showing thanks to his hands tucked into the pocket on his sweater.

James' hands came out and slapped Al's away. He stepped backward. "Don't you dare try to pull me back into this fucking nightmare. I won't let you. I got out. I'm sorry that you didn’t, but _I did._ And I'm not coming back, not ever!"

He turned and left but not before Al angrily said, "You _always_ run away."

*

Al loves the feel of James' hands on his back. They are so soft but very strong, stronger than his own. Al squirms happily on the bed, not even caring when it means James' penis touches his bum. His face is turned to the side, so he sees Harry. His father gives Al such a soft smile. He loves seeing James rub Al's back.

Harry is giving James instructions. They sound urgent, but Al's mind is focused on nothing but the soft pressure of James' fingers as they moved down his spine.

James says something back to Harry, and Harry's voice gets hard. Al hates it when that happens. Though he doesn’t know what was said, Al turns his head awkwardly to give James a pleading look. He wants them to just get along, just _once._

James looks torn for a long time. He always looks halfway between a decision, and Al never knows what the options are. For Al, there are no choices. There is only what Harry wants them to do.

"It's okay, James," Al says, giving permission for something he doesn’t understand.

James makes a strange broken sound but he shifts down, straddling Al's knees now. Harry is making encouraging sounds, but Al shakes his head at his father, knowing that sometimes it's better to just let James do things at his own pace.

Harry gifts him with that beautiful, soft smile again, and Al feels warm, inside and out. He jerks a little when James spreads his cheeks, but he keeps looking at Harry and doesn’t feel scared. He doesn’t even cry out when James pushes a finger inside him, even though it hurts. He knows Harry can see in his eyes how much it hurts, but there are some times when Harry _doesn’t_ smile that soft smile, when his eyes go dark and his lips open, and nothing they say, not even the magic word, can make it stop.

Then the finger is yanked from his body and Al _does_ cry out because the pain is not dulled by James' weight anymore or Harry's smile. James runs away from the room, runs down the hall until they both hear his bedroom door slam.

Al feels ashamed, lying there in the big bed all by himself. His bum is sore and his father's eyes are still dark, dark green, and he wishes James was there but James always runs away.

*

Scorpius sighed when Al pushed his hand away. It wasn’t even about sex, because sex, Al could have done. In fact, that was the first thing he'd tried for when they'd retired to Al's bed after everyone but James and Teddy had left.

Ginny had broken down and asked to stay with Hermione and Ron, who had, of course, agreed. They'd offered their house to everyone, but only Lily had taken them up on the offer, wanting to be with her mum. James and Teddy were still drinking in the living room, and Scorpius and Al went to bed.

Scorpius hadn't wanted sex, though. It was too soon, he'd said, even though Al needed it so badly. Al knew he was only trying to comfort him, but it felt so weighty, so overwhelming.

"I'm going to get some air," Al said with a sigh. He tensed when Scorpius stiffened, the two of them doing statue imitations in their bed.

"Do you want me to come with?" Scorpius asked as he always did, supportive yet unobtrusive.

Al shook his head and put his feet on the floor. It was cold. He pulled on a pair of trousers and grabbed Scorpius' oxford shirt, donning it before the chill could get to him. "I'm all right," Al said. He looked into Scorpius' soft grey eyes. "I just need to be alone. But I'll be back soon."

Scorpius sat up for a kiss, and Al obliged. Scorpius' lips were so soft, so _warm_ —but it only made him think of how cold his father's lips must be at that very moment. Al shuddered.

Scorpius was still watching Al when he closed the bedroom door. In the hallway, he listened for any signs of James and Teddy. To his relief, there were no raucous sounds, only the low susurration of voices, slightly slurred. He thought about going down there, but he knew James wouldn’t want to see him. It would just make things awkward with Teddy there.

His eyes were drawn to his parents' bedroom door, and he knew where he was supposed to be. His footsteps were silent, a talent born of many years sneaking around the creaky Burrow during the summers. He opened the door. It was his mum's room, really. The colours were too light, too neutral to have come from Harry's mind. There were doilies. On the bureau sat his father's cologne, the lid still off like he'd only just sprayed some on before work. Al picked the square bottle up, smelling it. Yes, it smelled like Harry, all right. Like Al's childhood.

The bed was the only thing in the room that had any sense of Harry at all. It was a large poster bed with dark grey sheets and a grey and white striped comforter. The pillow on Harry's side was gone; Al wondered what his mum had done with it. A flash of anger rushed Al—how dare she remove something so vital, so real? When there was so little _real_ left…

Al pulled back the covers and crawled in. He still felt too small for the bed.

*

James is always, always running. Even though their father punishes him, he still does it. Harry doesn’t get mad—he just seems so sad that James always comes back. Sometimes it takes a while, though.

This time, it has been two weeks. Two weeks since James just left, left Al with Harry, left Al. Now Al needs James, but he isn’t there. He's staying with Teddy and Aunt Andromeda for the weekend, and Al is so alone.

The hallway creaks a little when he tiptoes down it. His father's door is opened a crack, as it always is. Al and his siblings are always free to poke their heads in and talk about monsters under the bed. He can hear his mum's light snoring. Her form is curled around a pillow, facing the closet doors. Harry is on his back, completely silent in sleep.

Not liking the looks of the long shadows that paint the floor between him and his father's side of the bed, Al streaks across them as if he were on fire. Once at his father's side, he nudges Harry, not hard at all, but Harry is awake and dead still in a second flat. He relaxes when his eyes focus on Al, and Al smiles at him. His father is so tense. It's all James' fault.

"Can't sleep," Al whispers. He bites his lips. He hates James at that moment; if James were in his room like he is supposed to be, Al wouldn’t be so scared.

"Come in, sweetheart," Harry says, lifting the sheets and letting Al crawl in.

There isn't a lot of room, but his father is pressed up against his back anyway. He doesn’t need room. He has Harry. Harry will always protect him. There are no monsters, no shadows, no loneliness when Harry has his arms around Al.

Al is safe.

*

Al woke up to the sound of the bedroom door crashing open. The bedside lamp was still on, so he could see that it was James.

"Come in," Al said, lifting an eyebrow at the wide-open door as if permission had been asked.

"What the fuck are you doing, Al?" James lurched forward, clearly drunk.

"I _was_ sleeping. Where's Teddy?"

"Passed out on the couch. Where's _Scorpius_?"

"In my room," Al said. He pulled back the covers and stood, blushing when he realised he was only wearing Scorpius' shirt and snug black pants.

"So you're here all by your lonesome? Why?" James tried to sit on the edge of the bed and missed but regained himself quickly, sitting and leaning back, propped by his hands.

"Just… wanted to think." Al shook his head and paced. This was his brother. He _knew_ James. He couldn’t think of why he was so nervous. Maybe because James had made a point to never be in the same room alone with Al for years.

"Coming to any conclusions?"

Al nodded. "I miss him."

James scoffed. "Yeah, I bet."

"What's that supposed to mean? James, he's my… he _was_ my father!"

James reared to his feet, surprisingly steady on them. "He was _your father_ , Al! Our father. Fuck, he was our _father_."

"Stop it," Al said, feeling queasy. "Please, just stop."

For a moment, James sobered. He closed his eyes and seemed so tired. When he opened them again, however, they were filled with the fire that had fuelled him throughout their lives, and it was all focused on Al.

"You act like nothing fucking _happened,_ Al! How could you? How can you pretend so bloody _well_ that nothing was wrong? He—Al, for Merlin's sake, he—"

"I know what he did," Al said, his voice breaking. "I know he wasn’t perfect."

"Perfect? I'd settle for _sane._ I'd settle for not a fucking rapist!"

Al hissed, his eyes brimming with tears. "James, don't. He's gone, okay? It's over."

James laughed. "It's been over for me for years, ever since Hogwarts. How long has it been over for you? A year? A month? Since he _died_?" He was laughing through his words, the sound becoming hysterical.

"Please don't wake up Scorpius," Al pleaded, stepping closer. He grabbed James' arm and squeezed, trying to get through. "Please don't ruin this for me."

When James sneered, it was the only thing he had in common with his father. On both of them, it looked wrong, too hard. "Lucky little Al. I'm so very glad you were able to move on from everything _he_ did to us. To have a normal life, even if you are a fag." He reached out and grabbed the back of Al's neck, hauling him close enough that their chests were touching.

Al tried to hide his reaction to being so near his brother. James smelled just like he had, felt so achingly familiar. James was… the only thing Al had left of Harry.

"I'm sorry," Al said. "For everything I didn’t do to help you. For every time I wanted you there with me. For… for not letting you go."

"Fuck you," James said. He slammed his lips against Al's, a brutal, punishing kiss that had nothing of the coaxing tenderness of Harry's mouth but still felt horribly right.

*

"James," Al gasps, clutching the pillow hard against his stomach. They are on their sides facing Harry, who watches them with that dark, dark look. It hurts so bad like this, but it's the only way Harry can see them both, see their faces.

"It's okay, Al," James says to him. He's rocking so slowly, trying so hard not to hurt his little brother.

Al appreciates the effort but he knows Harry is growing impatient. He can see the darkness growing. "I'm okay," he chokes out, knowing James won't be convinced.

A moment later, Harry instructs them to move faster, for James to go harder.

Al can take it for a moment but he gasps in pleasure and in pain.

"Stop," Harry demands. They all remain still, a tableaux, as Harry listens hard. Their mum is in bed, and while she is a heavy sleeper, it makes Harry nervous.

James is panting in Al's ear, his penis throbbing and he pushes it in without moving the rest of his body. Al covers his own mouth with his hand.

Finally, Harry looks at Al with disapproval. "Try to be quiet, Al. Your mum can't know about us."

For that moment, there is no James included in that _us_. It's only Al and Harry. Al stays quiet and Harry looks so proud.

*

"Do I kiss like Daddy?" James demanded, pushing Al back. "Do I smell like him, taste like him? If you close your eyes, can you imagine?"

Ashamed, Al tried to look away, but James grabbed his jaw. "Well?"

"Yes. I can imagine." A violent sob escaped him. "Yes, okay? Because _I loved him!_ And you never did, not like I did!"

"I know. I know you loved it when we fucked you. It's not your fault. He was wrong, Al. It was wrong."

"No, no," Al said, trying to jerk from James' iron hold. "It wasn’t wrong, it was beautiful! It was love. It was family."

"It was rape," James said.

"Al?"

James and Al both turned toward the sound that had no right being in that bedroom, a voice too cultured and refined to have any part of the ugliness behind those doors.

"What did you hear?" James demanded, releasing Al and taking a menacing step toward Scorpius.

Al didn’t even think his blood was pumping as he waited for Scorpius to answer. But he didn’t need to hear it, anyway. The look on his boyfriend's face told him enough—Scorpius had heard it all.

"I'm sorry," Al began. "I…"

"Al… please don't." Scorpius looked destroyed. His face was pale, his eyes wide, lips bloodless. "Don't." He couldn’t seem to meet Al's desperately searching eyes.

A broken sound tore free of Al's throat when Scorpius turned and left the room. James and Al were silent even as the front door opened and closed.

Scorpius was gone.

"James," Al said, trying to speak through a shattered world. "Please don't go."

But James just shook his head. "I can't, can't be drawn back into this sickness. I'm sorry."

To the closed door, James far away on the other side of it, Al whispered, "I love you." He got back into the bed. It was cold even though it felt like only minutes had passed since his sleep had ended and his life with it.

*

James left, this time with permission. Harry stayed for a few minutes, kissing Al and telling him how beautiful he is, how perfect.

Then Harry, too, left. And Al was alone.

  
-the end-  



End file.
